Yes
by Phr Lt Nkkd
Summary: All he needed was one word...


Arcade's tongue stuck out of the corner of his mouth in concentration. In his hands were the final two pieces of his Caravan card tower. Already sixty-six cards in, the six of spades and the two of hearts would finally complete the masterpiece of six hours' time.

Slowly, agonizingly slow, Arcade began lowering the pair of cards, tilting the tops inward. Less than an inch to go, and he would be done.

Boone chose that moment to walk in.

Dripping with sweat and with his sniper rifle slung over his back, Boone paused in the doorway for a brief moment to wipe his brow. Once white, the undershirt Boone always wore pulled up a little, exposing the hard, toned naval underneath. Unfortunately for Gannon, he saw the whole thing from the corner of his eye.

Unconsciously, that eye travelled from the naval, to the top of the head, to the heavy boots and back up to the naval. When Boone started walking off, Arcade leaned forward to catch a glimpse of the wondrous butt that teased him so.

His right hand leaned a little too far down. Arcade could only watch in horror as one thing led to another and soon the whole tower was a silent, flat mess in front of him.

Arcade only managed to loud squeak of protest—and only after the cards had fallen. His eyes remained transfixed in disbelief, even as Boone walked back into the room, curious as to what the noise had been.

The ex-recon sniper cocked his head to one side. Arcade Gannon sat cross-legged on the floor in front of the coffee table. His black-rimmed glasses had slid down his nose as he continued to stare at the pile of cards. He made no effort to adjust them—his hands were too busy maintaining their position in the air. A soft, pink mouth remained parted in a look of being absolutely flabbergasted.

"What's wrong?" Boone casually inquired, adjusting his red beret further down his face.

Gannon lowered his arms slowly, coming to terms with whatever had shocked him. It was almost a minute later he found the ability to speak.

"My…my…" his eyes were still glued to the cards on the table. Craig Boone started piecing things together.

"You broke your card house," he offered helpfully, moving down to sit across from the blonde medical researcher.

"I…but…you…ooh…that's really upsetting." Gannon finished lamely. His face fell even further as he started to gather up the cards. The corners of his mouth were almost hanging off his jaw.

"Want some help?"

Arcade's head shot up sharply, analyzing Boone's face. Was he kidding? Blue eyes were hidden behind Boone's ever-present sunglasses, but the rest of his face was set in stone, serious as he, well, normally was. Nothing overtly indicated that he was kidding, so Gannon safely replied: "if you want."

So Boone settled in, leaning forward to line up the base of the house. A soft, musky smell danced past Gannon's nose as he did so. Instinctively, he leaned forward to inhale the scent. It was intoxicating. Pheromones swirled about and brought a small tinge of red to his cheeks. Boone's rough hands handled the cards so delicately it was their own oxymoron. Two hours had passed before Arcade had managed to even get the house a quarter of the way done; Boone had already hit that mark—and was working his way diligently up to the top. Arcade couldn't help but stare.

"Is there something on my shirt?"

"Huh?"

"I said: 'is there something on my shirt?'"

"No, why do you ask?"

"You haven't stopped staring at my chest."

The brief flush that had disappeared when Boone stopped moving was back. It heated his cheeks and burned his eyes a little. So, using that as an excuse, Arcade swept off his glasses and started cleaning them on his shirt.

"I'm starting to think this splotch is a scratch. That Courier is going to be fed to some nasty robots if he got my glasses scratched…" all the while, Arcade kept his head bent in pretend concentration, furiously scrubbing at a spot that didn't exist. Silently, he was hoping that the blush would fade very quickly.

"See anything you like?"

_Thump_. Arcade's glasses hit the coffee table. His hand was still locked under his shirt, halfway through the motion of cleaning a lens. Did the room just get a little hotter? "What are you talking about?" With the glasses perched perilously on the edge of the coffee table, Arcade had to make a decision between moving himself closer to Boone, thus deepening his shame , or continue sitting on the floor like a stupefied mime.

"I said: 'see anything you like?'"

Ah, with the proper stalling of time, Arcade's brain had flushed out a quick rebuttal: "I can't _see_ anything without my glasses." But before he could attempt to rescue his downed eyewear, something was being pushed lightly on his face.

The room came into focus, and so did Boone's face, hovering just inches from his own. Gannon could feel his breath quicken as the other man leaned closer. "Well?"

"You know, Boone, if I didn't know you any better, I'd say you were trying to seduce me!" it was a last-ditch attempt to remove himself from an awkward situation. Put a little humor in it so that Boone didn't think he was really hitting on him, and voila! Situation (hopefully) defused.

"Is it working?" the corner of Boone's mouth twitch. Only a tiny bit, but it twitched—the bastard was trying not to smile!

_Okay, Boone. We can play. _The gap between the two men closed to just a minute space as Arcade leaned so close their lips were just a hairs breadth apart. "What if I said 'yes?'"

The cards on the table flopped over again in defeat. Made of pasteboard, they stood little chance against the solid wall of muscle that crashed through them. Boone's right arm reached over and pulled Arcade Gannon into him, pressing their lips tightly together.

Steam practically poured from Gannon's shirt. Every nerve in his body had come alive and was throwing the most excellent party they could. He couldn't remember a time when he had ever been kissed like that! The passion, the force…had Boone not caught hold of his collar, Arcade may have rightly melted into the floor. His mouth was eager to receive the wet, hot tongue that forced its way in, engaging his own in a battle of dominance. Only when Boone decided they were done did he let go of Arcade.

Glasses slightly askew, Gannon leaned back into the couch, relying on it for stability. The blush on his cheeks had spread to his whole body; his head was spinning circles around itself.

"Would you like to say 'yes?'" Boone was on top of the table now, spilling cards down onto the floor. He moved until he was leaning over Gannon, arms propping him up on the couch, and his knees provided support from the coffee table. The muscles on his arms stood to attention as he did that, drawing Arcade's eyes briefly, before returning to the man that loomed in front of him.

His cock throbbed inside his black slacks, begging Arcade to let that man do whatever he wanted. Boone kissed him again, more gently. Arcade found his hands making their way up Boone's taut arms, reveling in the goose bumps that answered.

"Yes." He mumbled as best he could. Boone dropped to the floor, so that he was now straddling Arcade beneath him—all without breaking their kiss. "No, wait, wait, stop." Boone pulled back abruptly, like he'd been burned. "No, no. I just—how did you know I had…eclectic taste in lovers?"

"The Courier told me."

"What? Are you kidding?"

"Nope."

"Why?"

"He was tired of you 'pining' for me."'

"'Pining?' That was the best he could come up with? And for that matter, what about you? How did he know _you_ liked men?"

"I may have let it slip that I had never been the same since my wife died."

"So the 'Destroyer of the Wasteland' has become the 'Matchmaker of the Wasteland?'"

"Something like that."

Boone resumed his earlier position, entrapping Arcade's lips once more. "So what do you say?"

For the moment, Arcade was drunk with lust. "Yes," he answered. The rest, he would figure out later.


End file.
